derelictglancing into that abandoned place you wouldn’t see it. you’d see last year’s dead tomato vines staked like giant, vanquished spiders against the crusty soil; a crumpled purple bathing suit blown from a clothesline; the splintered hen coop stacked with empty jam jars. among the flowering weeds and crab grass runners: yellow gourds with dishcloth clothes and crayon faces. you wouldn’t see a weathered body freckled with birdshit, nor the punched-in shadow still aglint with thoughts. you’ve passed this place many times on your usual walk. at night there are no lights, no voices: its restlessness is wind and birds.


LJ Moore lives with two trained rats and a photographer. In 2013, she circumnavigated the island of Svalbard on a barkentine full of artists. She drinks coffee for your protection. Her book of illustrated short fiction is forthcoming in 2015 from Achiote Press. More at


Photo credit: Theen Moy


One Response to “derelict”

  1. Elaine McKay says:

    I loved every word of this. Stunning.

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